on socks and other important lessons

1

Did you know that if you lose feeling in your leg, your socks won’t stay on straight? No? Well, that’s one little detail I’ve learned this week. Sort of lovely really. I mean, I would never have known that socks were so ergonomically designed to rely on the pressing of movement through the foot in a forward direction when you are walking. I know this because if your foot is dragging in any way then the sock spirals gradually off course. With the errant foot. And I used to think that perhaps a person with a condition resulting in the foot dragging had been dressed without proper loving care when the socks were put on. But it turns out that, however lovingly socks are applied to a dragging foot, by its owner or by anyone else, if the foot drags then the sock will gradually turn. It’s uncomfortable and unbelievably annoying but I suppose in the scheme of things not a very large concern. But then, when the feeling in your leg or foot decides to be absent or elsewhere, those small distresses seemed to mount up for the opposition, and you find yourself weeping at this so small betrayal. Socks were always so trustworthy before!

2

It's almost impossible to convince anyone that you are in pain or distress if you can master yourself as far as to speak in your usual voice. They can’t seem to believe it. The sums do not add up. I mean they seemed to know to distrust you if you are wailing and moaning as soon as they come near you, and show less sympathy and a general wariness (I observe), but they don’t seem to be able to believe you either, if you deliver your distress in a rational manner with no tears or histrionics. You must adopt a special invalid voice and facial expression, even if your condition has nothing to do with your voice, and you don’t want to make a big fuss. I overheard a conversation at the nurses’ station where they are talking about me: yeah, no, I know, I watched her heading to the toilet with her crutches and she looked like she was going to fall over. I thought that was just her normal gait. My ears were on stalks all the time, trying to glean the odd nugget of information that might help me know how to play the next round. At that, though, I wanted to run over there and grab the nurse by the scruff of the neck and give her a good shaking. I can hear you! I wanted to be shout, blood pumping, red faced and furious. Until a week ago I was perfectly able bodied! But for the last week I haven’t been able to run anywhere, or walk, actually. I can barely even stand up.

3

Some doctors are trusted more than others. A loud voice helps. Surprisingly. Being a man helps. A brisk busy manner helps, too. I can hear next door, whimpering, moaning and demanding as she was, being carried smartly along the right path, no room for objection, by one such doctor. When she arrived, she was distraught, weeping great wracking sobs, though this caused her to wheeze and gurgle in a horrible manner and added considerably to her symptoms (I put my headphones on for that bit), pulling her arms away from the nurses when they tried to give her intravenous pain relief, setting off to find herself a bed despite being asked to sit still and stay there.

Then later, she’s next door in the AAU, the Acute Assessment Unit, that is, and no, that’s not an admission to hospital, even though you’ve been moved to something that seems like a ward, and yes, apparently it is part of A&E, even though this rather forceful and shiny fine young doctor announces for the benefit of the entire unit that he's been looking for Sharon in the A&E (she really did have the name I’d imagined for her!) Now she’s next door, then, and submitting docilely to all manner of uncomfortable procedures, as he sweeps all before him. He is the ENT doctor. She has a something blah something blah something that you might have heard called a quinsy in the past. She has a syringe thrust into the back of her throat to drain the abscess behind her tonsils, and a ‘scope shoved up her nose to determine the danger to her airways. Twice. Because ENT wants someone else to have a look, too. He creates this breezy sprinkling of magic amongst the nurses, as well. All their voices seemed breathily higher when they ask each other a number of times if the ENT doctor has gone or if he is coming back.

Hela, across the way, doesn’t command quite the same respect when her doctor speaks to the nurses. He, gentle and softly spoken, tries to shield her ears from his recommendation that she should have a psych consult immediately. No one rushes into fevered action or asks breathlessly if he’s coming back. Hela has already been getting on everyone’s nerves and doesn’t get the same generosity when it comes to biscuits as I do, for example. Or perhaps everyone is overjoyed to see Sharon and her straightforwardly physical complaint. No underlying mental health conditions, no mysteries, no hysterical screaming, no complaining she’s being kept there against her will, no demands for hot chocolate / biscuits / sandwiches / dinner / better pillows etc or pain relief so obscure the hospital pharmacy doesn’t even have it… Come to think of it, Sharon must be such a straight forward cut and dried case, treatable with paracetamol and antibiotics, for heaven’s sake – she’ll be feeling better within hours, and the route to homeward bound for her contains no mysterious U-turns or cliffhangers at all. No wonder they’re all faint with relief about the woman next door.

4

On another note, I feel I must point out that it’s not a good idea to call the police and an ambulance from inside the AAU or A&E or emergency department or whatever it’s called, to demand that they come and take you home immediately because you’re being kept there against your will, despite the fact that they had brought you in at your own demand the day before. And don’t compound it by shouting out for the nurses, the ones keeping you there against your will, to come and corroborate what you’re telling the operator, because she’s asking to speak to someone on the ward. If you want kindness, this is absolutely not the way to carry on. Poor Hela. She was in a bad way and did need an urgent psych consultation. Pity that her doctor didn't create the same vortex effect on the entire department.

5

And sometimes, it’s OK to take a little break and slip gently under the covers of strong painkillers for a while. If anyone offers them, there’s no shame in taking them every now and then.

sock drawer (photograph by GM)

Nov 2021